A Hero in the Making. Laurie Kingery
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not,” Bishop mused, a half smile on his face. “As sheriff, I just happen to know Hank’s one of the saloon’s best customers. I could pay him a visit, persuade him it’s in his best interest to donate the use of his lathe so Nate, here, could make new table legs. And if I’m very persuasive, maybe he’ll even loan George some planking and sawhorses for temporary tables.”
“But Bohannan’s under arrest,” Ella reminded the sheriff. “Or are you letting him work off his sentence by fixing the damage he—that is, his employer—inflicted on this place?” she asked, allowing her voice to suggest that she still didn’t believe he was completely innocent.
“Sentence? He’s not under arrest anymore,” Bishop said blandly.
“He’s not?”
“I’m not?” Ella and Bohannan asked in unison. Ella’s voice was indignant, while Bohannan’s held notes of disbelief and gratitude.
Bishop nodded, and turned to Ella. “He’s convinced me he didn’t know anything about what Salali was planning to do, so I can’t hold him any longer. I would’ve advised him to ride on out of here and stay out of trouble, but that Salali scoundrel robbed him, too, Miss Ella. So what he’s offering is a favor to George Detwiler—and to you, since he’ll fix your café, too.”
“I wonder if he’d be offering to stay and help if he had any way to leave,” she retorted, glaring at Bohannan.
Something—she wasn’t sure if it was hurt or anger—sparked in those blue eyes as he returned her stare, but when he replied, his voice was even.
“I’m sorry you don’t trust me, Miss Ella.”
“No, I don’t,” she retorted. “You may not have wrecked the saloon, but I saw how willing you were to help fleece the townspeople of their hard-earned money to sell a bottle of worthless—maybe even dangerous—liquid. How do I know you won’t try to fleece Mr. Detwiler too?”
“I don’t believe there was anything harmful in the Cherokee Marvelous Medicine, Miss Ella,” he said.
She noticed he didn’t try to insist that it was helpful, though.
“And it’s true I might not have offered if I had a dollar in my pockets and a horse to ride out of here,” he went on. “But my carpentry skills will speak for themselves, and I hope I’ll be able to prove you have nothing to fear from me while I’m here.”
She couldn’t seem to escape that penetrating gaze of his.
Sheriff Bishop cleared his throat. “Reckon there’s no time like the present to make that visit to the lumber mill.”
She stiffened. The sheriff was going to leave her alone with Bohannan?
“Sheriff Bishop, surely you should speak to Mr. Detwiler before you do that,” she protested. “It’ll be up to him whether he decides to take Mr. Bohannan up on his very kind offer.” She was aware of Bohannan’s eyes on her, and his infuriating grin.
As if on cue, they heard a wagon pull up outside, and a moment later Detwiler came through the bat wings, carrying a small parlor table.
Bishop quickly informed the saloonkeeper about Bohannan’s being cleared of the charges, his offer to help repair the saloon and his own intended visit to the lumber mill.
First, Detwiler was incredulous, then whooped and slapped Bohannan on the back. “If you ain’t an answer to a prayer, I don’t know what is! Sure, you kin have room an’ board, can’t he, Miss Ella?”
Ella knew she was being asked because the “board” part of the offer would have to come from her. What could she say but yes? Hopefully, the fellow wouldn’t be there to eat into her profits for very long.
“’Course, the poker players won’t like it too much, bein’ so close together an’ all, but I’ll designate one table as bein’ for poker and the players in one game can sit at opposite ends of the table from the players in another. Don’t usually have more than a coupla games goin’ at a time, anyhow. The first table you repair will be for faro, Mr. Bohannan. Must admit, it’ll be good to have someone here at night to watch over the place when I leave,” Detwiler enthused, and then the two men went to help the preacher bring in the chairs and boxes of dishes and silverware for the café.
After removing the debris from the café and salvaging what could be repaired, they left Ella alone to arrange the tables and chairs as she saw fit, and to put away the dishes, silverware and cups the preacher’s and mayor’s wives had sent. By the time she had the donated things set up to her satisfaction, she found that the sheriff had indeed succeeded in convincing the lumber mill owner to loan some planking and sawhorses, and the men were already setting them up. And Dayton had also agreed to let Bohannan use his lathe to repair the saloon’s wrecked furniture. The hotel had contributed a few cast-off chairs from its storeroom, as well, so at least the poker players could sit, but the rest would have to stand until the chairs were repaired.
“There!” Detwiler said with a satisfied grin a little while later, clapping his hands together as he looked over the arrangement of the long tables and benches. “That’ll do for a spell, I reckon.” But he was speaking to Bohannan’s back, for he had wandered over to study the piano against the wall.
Curious as to what he might be up to, Ella watched him as he studied the piano, plunking a few keys here and there.
“Nice piano, ain’t it?” Detwiler said.
“It would be, but it’s out of tune,” Bohannan said.
“I used to have someone to play it at night when the saloon was crowded full of fellas playin’ poker and drinkin’ whiskey, but he moved on not long ago.” Detwiler ran his hand along the piano top. “I’ve got the tuning stuff upstairs—the guy who sold me the piano left ’em—but I dunno how to tune it.”
“Reckon I can help you with that, too. Just so happens I can tune a piano,” Bohannan murmured.
Ella ground her teeth in frustration at the sight of Detwiler’s round face all lit up. George set great store by his piano, and he was looking at Bohannan as if he’d hung the moon.
“Bohannan, this is turning into my lucky day!” Detwiler told him. “Don’t suppose you kin play, too? If you’d agree to play for a couple of hours every night when the saloon is busiest, Nate, I could see my way clear to offering you an additional three dollars a week, over and above your room and board.”
Ella watched Bohannan’s face, which revealed nothing of what he was thinking.
It took an endless minute, but at last he shook his head. “I’m not one to spend my nights in a saloon. But I’ll tune your piano, Mr. Detwiler. I can start on that right away.”
Ella hadn’t thought Bohannan would decline working in the saloon for money, and she felt her respect for him go up half a notch.
Bohannan straightened and turned from the piano. “So now that you have the problem of the furniture solved, what else do you need in order to open the saloon for business again?”
“Some glasses and whiskey. I buy the whiskey from a saloon in San Saba—the proprietor there orders extra for me.” Detwiler turned to Ella. “Miss Ella, would you please go down to the mercantile and see if Mrs. Patterson would consider putting a case of glassware on my account? If we can get the saloon back in business, tell her I could settle with her in a few days.”
Ella nodded. Anything to get away from these two men who had suddenly become allies and fast friends.
“Do you have any money saved up so you could go to San Saba and get some whiskey?” Bohannan asked Detwiler. “There’s still a lot of daylight left. If you got some whiskey, and assuming the mercantile will give Miss Ella some glasses, you could have the saloon open by tomorrow.”
Detwiler beamed as he dug through his pockets. “I reckon I got enough to buy some whiskey, all right—enough to get started,